Nightmare's Gift
by Iltharia Stormfang
Summary: Under the onslaught of the vicious Forsaken and the spread of the Worgen Curse, how will the Gilnean citizens cope? Follow the story of a young female druid, Iltharia, as she follows her Druidic calling and fights for her country.
1. Enter Gilneas

_This is my first upload, heh. And my first WoW fic to boot. This is going to be a multi-chapter story to introduce my druid, Iltharia, and her... unique twist on being Feral. You'll find out more later though. I've proofread this over and over, so I hope I didn't mistake anything, but please, by all means, crit/comment/review and I'll fix whatever I have to! I'd LOVE the input, seriously. :] I'll get started on the next chapter ASAP._

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Rain pattered down on the glazed stone rooftop of a small cottage, hammering out a dreary melody that echoed around the interior of the building. Inside, a ragtag group of Worgen sulked, pacing around the embers of a dying fire. They were haggard, gaunt, clearly displaying the hardships of a country under siege. Their clothing ragged and their fur unkempt and dirty, they grumbled to themselves, each glancing out the window on occasion. The only thing they could discern beyond the weak glow of the oil lamp on the front stoop was grey fog and rain.

"What is Genn thinking? We're backed into a corner here, and I'll be damned if I die to one of the Forsaken. They'll not have me!" A brown-furred Worgen spoke, his deep voice laced with snarls of displeasure. He ran his long-clawed fingers over the hilts of the twin daggers strapped to his hips, glancing uneasily out the window, straining to see beyond the fog.

"You shouldn't speak of our King like that, Esmund. Lord Greymane is only doing what any leader would do- what he thinks is best for his people. Can you really blame him? He just lost his son, and we've had to flee Gilneas _again_. Don't be too hard on him." A female Worgen with inky black fur shook her head, glancing at Esmund warily. She shook out her thick ebon mane, busying herself by braiding it over her shoulder.

"You can't be serious, Iltharia. You're a druid. You can't possibly look at the destruction around you and say he's doing all he can, right? The land is torn asunder, and the forsaken are destroying the forests and wildlife. How can this not affect you? I'm a _rogue_ for Light's sake, and I can't stand to see how dismally he's failing." Esmund turned from the window, turning the entirety of his deep golden gaze on the young druid. She looked flatly back at him, her stormy blue eyes emotionless.

"You're a fool if you think I'm deaf to the cries of the earth. I hear their pleas, I feel the terror of the flora and fauna as they're hunted and chased. But we're under the same strain. The Banshee Queen wants us all dead, Esmund, for nothing other than existing. The only way I can keep sane, the only way I'll survive long enough to heal Gilneas after this is done, is to believe. Believe, and hope that our King has the strength to see us through this hell."

"Enough, both of you. This has gone on long enough. We've got enough problems without you two arguing incessantly." An older male interrupted the two of them, slamming his fist against the wall in agitation.

A knock on the door caught the group's attention. The older male walked to the door, one hand on the handle, the other sliding silently to his shoulder, effortlessly pulling his broad sword from its sheath across his back. "Who's there?" He growled, his hand tightening on the knob, ready to fight if the individual didn't name itself.

"Calm down, Amery. It's Everette." A muffled voice, clearly female, sounded from just beyond the door. Amery let out a sigh of relief and pulled the door open, ushering the human woman inside. "Shutter the lamp, Amery. This isn't a pleasure visit, I'm here on business." She frowned, rubbing her temples as she stepped into the cottage. Amery quickly sheathed his sword and snuffed the oil lamp, enveloping the house in impenetrable darkness. He shut and locked the door, and pulled down a thick canvas curtain over the window.

"There. Now what brings you here, Everette? Shouldn't you be at the Greymane Manor?" Amery leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his muscular, scarred chest. Everette was silent for a long moment, busying herself with removing her cloak. She sat down next to the fire, staring blankly into the embers.

"More rain. I'm getting sick and tired of this _blasted_ rain!" She muttered, rubbing her arms for what little warmth the motion could provide. With a sigh, she looked around at the trio, her brow furrowed as she thought. "Well, friends, it isn't good news, I'll tell you that much. Rayner wants to hold another war meeting. He uncovered a small Forsaken camp just about a league to the northeast of Tempests' Reach, and he wants to siege it. He needs your help. All of you." Her gaze flickered over each of them individually as she spoke. "There are camps everywhere. This one we've found is just one of dozens our scouts have reported, and it's merely the smallest. The Forsaken are pushing harder, Amery, and I'm beginning to lose faith that we'll be able to hold our beloved country." She dropped her eyes, returning to staring bleakly at the remains of the fire. "The meeting is tomorrow morning at sunrise, in the stables." She stood abruptly, throwing her cloak back around her shoulders. Amery grabbed her arm roughly, spinning her to face him.

"Don't give up, Ev. We'll fight to our dying breaths." He muttered in her ear, nuzzling her cheek affectionately.

"That's what I'm afraid of." Her voice was a cracked whisper, her despair breaking through finally. She backed slowly away from Amery, shutting the door briskly behind her and disappearing into the roiling fog beyond.


	2. The War Room

Feathery beams of light broke the horizon with the dawn, touching the bottom of the spent clouds with a brilliant rosy pink. Dew sparkled on the tips of the pine trees just outside the window, giving the world a fresh, renewed feeling. Within the cottage, the three Worgen were just waking, stretching their muscles and wiping the sleep from their eyes. One by one, they shuffled slowly from the dusty dwelling, blinking with surprise into the sunlight.

"Well that's a new one. The rain's stopped." Iltharia tipped her head back, breathing in the crisp scent of new growth. A pleased grin stretched across her muzzle. "It's beautiful! When the sun follows the rain, it just makes everything feel so… so…"

"Don't you dare say 'hopeful.' You're far too optimistic, Iltharia, look," Esmund let out a cynical bark of laughter and gestured behind him. Dark thunderheads crowded the western horizon, making the sunlight in the east seem like only a fragile, passing fancy.

"Well optimism is better than the alternative." Iltharia knelt on the ground, the dyed green leather of her kilt gathering around her knees, and cupped her hand around a small tendril. She leaned in close and let a soft puff of air caress the sprout, and the plant gained a gentle green ambience. Slowly it began to grow, the tendrils lengthening and curling with strange jerking motions as its growth accelerated. Leaves sprouted from the newer vines, followed by buds that opened to reveal luminescent violet blossoms whose throats faded to a bright ultramarine. Esmund shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"Come on Esmund, Iltharia. We've got to be getting to the stables." Amery nodded his head toward the cluster of brown buildings in the distance that marked the town of Tempests' Reach. "We'll probably be a little late, but all things considered, I don't think Rayner will mind. Let's go." He touched both of them briefly on the shoulder, and started off toward the town, his long grey cloak sweeping behind him.

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Iltharia, Esmund and Amery pushed open the door to the stables, wrinkling their noses at the strong scent of horse manure and dust that rushed to meet them. The large central tack room was vacated, lit by a single dingy oil lamp, filling the room with drifting clouds of black smoke. A bare wooden table was the sole occupant of the room. Around it were gathered a group some fifteen strong of mixed humans and Worgen. Several people turned to see the newcomers, and even fewer waved or nodded to acknowledge them.

"Good, Amery and his crew have arrived. Gather over here. We need to discuss this new Forsaken camp." An older man was standing at the head of the table, beckoning them over with a quick wave. His long silver hair was bound in a ponytail, and his usually well shaven face was rough with stubble. The trio pushed their way forward between the other occupants, looking down on the table curiously. At its center was a battle-worn map of Gilneas. Stained and torn with overuse, the thin leather was stuck with bright steel pins in dozens of locations around Gilneas City. Red wax encircled the main Forsaken outpost just northeast of Gilneas city.

"So, Rayner, now that everyone is here, what's the plan?" A young teen spoke up from the back of the crowd, a gleeful grin on his face at the prospect of a battle.

"Cool it, kid. Battle isn't as glorious as you think." Amery cut the youth off, giving him a hard stare. "And if I know Rayner, it won't be an up-front strike." He grinned at the older man expectantly.

Rayner nodded. "That's right Am. We're going to do this as silently as possible. The scouts inform me there's a small time commander there. He's responsible for the recent attacks on our granaries and mills. Our goal is to take him out, destroy their lab equipment and steal any weaponry we can in the process. With the King's army and Crowley's Bloodfang tied up with the main of the Forsaken and the Orc's forces, we've been stripped down to too few to protect what's left out here. We don't have the strength of numbers to launch an all-out assault on the camps. Guerilla tactics are all we can do at this point.

Esmund, I want you to take as many other rogues you can find, and act as sentries for the rest of us. There are good perches here, here, and here." He gestured to individual points around the Forsaken camp, each point marked with a small blue cross. "You're well enough at being silent in the shadows, and you're one of the best rogues to our disposal. Pick your team and report back to Amery once you've decided who you'll bring. I'll keep seven people here to defend Tempests' Reach. For all we know, they could have a backup party waiting for an attack like this, and I don't want our innocent and our property left unprotected. Amery, can I leave you in charge of defending the town?" Amery nodded and listed off the names of the people he'd be keeping in town with his defense. "Alright. That leaves me, Iltharia, Everette, Allana, and Darell for the rest of the assault. There are some large oaks near the camp that I'd like to use to launch our ambush from. Everette, do you still have that fox of yours?" He glanced around the stables, searching the empty stalls for a sign of the small creature. At Everette's whistle, a red furred fox slunk out of the shadows, its green eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light. It gave a gruff yip of greeting before lying down at its master's feet. "Good. Once we see where those monsters are storing their weapons and ammunition, I want that fox of yours to sabotage them in any way it can. It's such a crafty little critter." He chuckled and gave the beast's head an affectionate rub.

"Iltharia. Your job will be a bit tougher. Now, Celestine has drilled this into my head enough times, but let me just get this straight. She's thus far taught you basic offensive spells, limited healing, and shown you how to take on the shape of a cat, correct?" Iltharia nodded in confirmation. "Right… And you can hide yourself just as well as Esmund can when you're in your cat form. This commander pulled one big mistake: he camped himself beneath a big pine. I want you to make your way through the camp to that pine, and immobilize the commander. Allana, your job is to sneak in there and destroy as much equipment as you can. Light knows you're good at it. Once Iltharia's immobilized their leader, I'll slip in and off him. At that point, Esmund can direct two of his rogues in to trash whatever is left. Darell and I will cover our retreat, and we're out of there. Hopefully we'll be able to do it before most of the camp mobilizes. I'd be a fool to think we'll go entirely unnoticed, but as long as we get most of the destruction done before they organize enough to fight back, our mission will be accomplished. When we retreat, retreat first to the north of the camp. We don't want to lead their scouts back to Tempests' Reach. We'll leave in two hours, so prepare yourselves. You'll find weapons, oil and any other provisions you need in the last three or four stalls. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, and began to split up into their respective teams. Iltharia bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She'd never been involved in any of the ambushes previously, and to have such a role in her first assault was nerve wracking. A slight figure appeared to her left and reached out a comforting hand, patting Iltharia on the shoulder reassuringly. Iltharia turned her head to the person, and blinked with surprise when she saw that it was Esmund.

"Shouldn't you be planning with the other rogues?"

"I don't need to. We've done this before. You need to relax, though. If you agonize yourself and stress out over the mission, you'll be more prone to screwing up. I may heckle you, but I don't want you dead." He looked at her grimly, his hand squeezing her shoulder again.

"I'll try. I just hope I do well enough for Rayner." Her ears flattened against her head, betraying her fear for the upcoming ordeal.

"Just remember what Celestine taught you and you'll do fine." He gave her a pat and walked off, leaving Iltharia alone with her thoughts.


	3. Trailing the Forsaken

Iltharia clenched her fists, her eyes shutting tight as she dipped into the natural, Goldrinn-given strength that was the source of a Druid's power. Each touch served to give her some small reassurance, some comfort that the strength was indeed _there_, and wouldn't fail her. With a brisk shake of her shoulders, she opened her eyes, let out a long, relaxing breath and headed back into the stable. With just an hour until departure, the young druid figured it was about time to see what armor she would need. She pushed her way inside and looked around, heading down the wing of the tunnel Rayner had indicated earlier. At the end, she found two of the townsmen from Tempest's Reach sifting through various types of armor and distributing to the gathered people. When the shorter of the two men caught sight of her, he waved her over to the front of the crowd.

"Come up here, Miss Ashdown. We'll fit you out with what you need." As she edged her way to his side, she looked around, eying the neatly laid out piles of gear in the surrounding stalls. She could see that they were separated by type in each stall; directly to her left there were gleaming ring-mail shirts and similar heavy pieces, while to her right there were thick stitched pads of leather. It was to the leather stall that the portly man turned, his girth wobbling dangerously as he made a quick movement, pulling a leather thong from a pocket on his trousers. The thong was marked every few inches with charcoal, the space between each mark perfectly equal along the whole piece. He deftly wrapped the leather around her head, muttering under his breath, his brow furrowed over beady dark brown eyes. His silent calculations fascinated her. She held perfectly still as he moved the leather down to her shoulders, tapping the sides of her neck and measuring each part of her body that would need armor. She flicked an ear uncomfortably when his sure hands wrapped the tool around her bust, her innocent, feminine modesty making her blush faintly at the touch, despite its professional intent. The man scribbled his calculations on a piece of parchment and turned away from her to begin digging into the stall behind him.

When he returned to face her, his arms were weighed down with a pile of various leather goods. "Now, Miss Ashdown, normally it would take a considerable amount of time to find the correct fitting piece. I've picked items that best fit the measurements I took, so hopefully we'll be able to find a reasonable match, pressed for time as we are." He handed her a tanned leather helm, and she slid it onto her head. It slid down over her eyes slightly, but not so much that it would restrict her vision. Following the helm, he also fitted onto her a scaled leather breastplate, bracers, gloves, light shoulder pads, leggings, and boots. The leather armor wasn't heavy enough to cause her great strain, and she could still move quite freely, even in combat.

"Thank you, sir." She smiled and curtsied to the man, grateful for the protection his armor would provide her.

"I'm only doing my job, Miss Ashdown. You had better come back alive- I'm sure your sister would miss you sorely if you weren't to return." Iltharia blanched as she thought of her family; she rarely saw them since contracting the Curse. She quickly masked her discomfort and laughed lightly at him.

"Of course, sir. I'll see to it that I return safely," she said politely and turned away from the outfitters, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the damp, musty stables and into the open air again.

As dusk fell over the town, a quiet hush came over the assembled townsfolk; tensions raised and tempers flared as they waited for word of departure. Whispers rippled through the group as lanterns were flashed and then shuttered, sending a flickering message down the ranks.

"You should probably, ah, shapeshift so you're ready to move out when Rayner is." Everette touched Iltharia's shoulder gently, and the druid turned to look at her, wondering how the cream-furred Worgen stayed so peaceful. She smiled. "I envy you for that, you know. I may bond with beasts, but I'd give anything to take their shape."

Iltharia smiled and chuckled softly, her appreciation for the contact clear in her stormy blue eyes. Her eyes drifted half shut as she concentrated, turning her focus inward and reaching for the gift of her power again. It immediately seared up through her body, a low growl rumbling from her as she fought to control and direct the power, bending it to her will. Shapeshifting was still a difficulty for her; she was newly instructed to the art, and it took her a great many weeks to master the shape. She gritted her teeth as her muscles and bones stretched and ripped, reforming; her fur rippled and grew longer around her ruff, her muzzle shortening and widening. Within moments she had dropped to all fours, no longer a Worgen but a great dark cat with pointed ears, a thick black mane, and eerily glowing golden eyes. The only visible form of her leather armor was thick bands of crimson-dyed leather around her ankles as well as a collar, with iron spikes fastened into them. Her tufted tail whipped behind her and she flexed her claws, rolling her shoulders experimentally as she adjusted to the switch to moving on all four feet rather than two.

She turned her head up, blinking her eyes solemnly at Everette, who was regarding her with a look of awe. She flexed her claws, slipping the deadly-sharp tips into the heather under her paws as she readied herself to go. Despite being engulfed in the strength of the Earth and her part in protecting the delicate balance of its life, she couldn't help her heart's nervous flutters as she thought about her coming ordeal. She would do her best, of course. But what if her best wasn't good enough? Esmund's words kept ringing through her mind, and she took a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat and breathing until she was safely able to banish all the foul thoughts from her mind. She'd do fine. She had no choice.

Somewhere in the dim light of the town, an owl hooted, the eerie noise serving to set her comrades on edge as the haunting shriek clamored through the otherwise silent streets. Then, with an unexpected quietness, a single flare lit the sky behind the stable where they had originally met. The world was silent but for the muted padding of feet on the damp, mossy soil as each group sprang into action, separating for their assigned parts of the mission. Iltharia's heart leapt to her throat as she began to move out with her group. They were packed into a wedge-shaped formation, with Iltharia in the center, Darell to her left, Allana to her right, and Everette and Rayner leading in the point position. Their group moved silently and efficiently through the town, slipping through the shadows of the houses and shops with a deadly calm as they headed toward their destination. Soon enough, the houses fell away to farmlands, and then to thick trees. The trunks stood tall and imposing, gnarled and twisted against the velvety black of the night, like ancient sentinels. This land was known as the Blackwald, one of the oldest standing forests in Gilneas. The ground here was spotted with deep crimson lichen, blanketing the earthy ground beneath convoluted tree trunks that were studded with massive thorns, obscuring bright shafts of moonlight from the harvest moon that hung low and heavy in the sky above them.

It was by the light of this yellowing moon that they made their progress, letting its dusky rays guide them to their destination. Despite the expanse of land that separated them from their camp, Iltharia couldn't help but pick up the subtle tang of the Forsaken: the scent of embalming fluid, very delicate as far as scents go, but ever present and underlying the natural scents of the forest around her. It was some time before her comrades began to pick it up as well. About a hundred yards in the distance, the monster's camp finally shimmered into view, appearing ghostlike and ethereal in the half-darkness. Rayner held up a hand, stopping the group where they stood. Kneeling on the ground, the man drew a map from his vest, rolling out the weathered material on the ground in front of him. The map was made from well-worn and tanned hide, and made no noise as he silently calculated both their position and the position of the Forsaken camp before them. The party crowded around him, even Everette's devilish little fox sitting down at her master's feet and staring at the map.

"Right. We're just north of the camp now. Iltharia, you'll be able to see your position first, the large pine. I need you in that tree and ready to strike as soon as we receive the signal from Esmund, who should be scouting the area right now." Rayner looked at each of them in turn, a deadly calm glinting in his dark eyes. Iltharia's heart pounded with dread terror, anxious about her upcoming role, and unable to shake the deep feelings of unease the mission was giving her.

The group waited, tense as a strung bow in the moonlight, for Esmund's signal. Minutes passed slowly, each seeming more like an eternity. After nearly thirty minutes had passed, even Rayner was on edge. He placed a rough hand on Iltharia's shoulder, digging his fingers into her shaggy mane. "I want you to go in there, and find that damn rogue. He should've been out by now. Let me know what's going on as soon as you're able. We need to get on with this. Got it?"

She took a deep breath, closing her golden eyes for a few heartbeats before nodding solemnly. "I'll do my best," she rasped, her voice having a much more feral, rough tone to it in her animal forms. She gave her companions one more lingering look before leaping into motion, silently but quickly padding into the imposing shadows of the trees around her. It was effortless for her, as a cat, to hide herself in shadows like these. It was almost as if she weren't even there; indeed, most onlookers would pass her over, her inky fur hiding her form against the naturally dark wood of the trunks. Only a very perceptive individual would be able to spot the slight trail she left of her passing. Tree by tree, she made her way to the Forsaken camp. The scent of their foul bodies grew stronger as she got closer, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste. It wasn't long before she could pick out their camp: It glowed in the night, a sickly green with the presence of an unnaturally thick fog, no doubt from their dark magic and alchemy tables they toted with them everywhere. Iltharia leapt up into a tree above her, her thick, sharp claws digging into the bark as she clawed her way to the lowest branch. From this vantage point, she could sneak tree to tree until she was above the camp. Suitably close enough for her feline eyes to see in the gloom, Iltharia swept her gaze across the camp, searching out for the dark form of Esmund, the lost scout, her friend.

She wasn't prepared for the sight that met her eyes. Her heart stilled, her previously frantic pulse now eerily silent as she gazed down below her.


End file.
